Sherlock Holmes and the Goblet of Fire
by magirl0413
Summary: It is the time of the Triwizard Tournaments! John and Sherlock are both to young to enter. Or so they thought. With Moriarty out to get them and Burn the heart out of Sherlock, he must protect the wizard he loves from the dangers of the Tournament and Moriarty. Established Johnlock and Mystrade. Slash!
1. Chapter 1

**As I stated in the description this will be an au in the Harry Potter world just with a Sherlock flare. There is already an established relationship between Sherlock and john so just forewarning. This is slash. I don't own Harry Potter or Sherlock, this is just for fun. **

Sherlock Holmes sat quietly in the train compartment silently reading the book. He sighed, totally bored simply staring out at the young witches and wizards that swarmed platform 9 ¾ , finally he spotted one head of blond hair. He smiled and his heart beat just a little faster.

John Watson said goodbye to his mother and rushed onto the train, excited to see his dark haired friend. He'd gone through at least five different compartments until he finally reached the one with the dark haired fifth year.

Sherlock looked up and smiled at his boyfriend. He stood up and met the blond with a soft kiss. Sherlock swiped his hand through the shorter wizard and kissed his forehead. "I missed you John."

John smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek, "I missed you too, Sherlock." They both sat down, John across from Sherlock. "So, Sherlock how was your summer? I know you told me that your family was coming to visit," John asked. The train jerked and they started moving, the machine roaring down the track.

Sherlock frowned, "They are still as annoying and intolerable as always," he said with a frustrated sigh.

John laughed, "Sherlock, I'm sure it's not as bad as all that."

"John it was infuriating, my family are all rich pure blood snobs," He pouted.

"Now Sherlock, I would watch how you talk of our family," A voice said.

Sherlock frowned and turned away from his elder brother, "What do you want Mycroft," He snarled.

"I simply came to see how you both were doing," The seventh year stated stiffly.

Sherlock smirked and faced his brother, "Oh really and how is Lestrade?"

If John didn't know any better he would have sworn that Mycroft Holmes was blushing. Good thing he knew better.

"My relationship with Gregory is none of your business," He said stiffly. Mycroft huffed and left the compartment.

John laughed, "Greg does seem much happier since he and your brother started dating."

Sherlock frowned again and almost appeared like he would be sick, "Please don't remind me," he said bitterly.

"Well you know Sherlock, I'm really excited for Quidditch this year, my mom bought me a firebolt! Nearly cost her an arm though. It was for my birthday," he said excitedly.

Sherlock smiled, "I'm sure you'll be the best seeker of all the houses," he said.

John got up and moved next to his boyfriend. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulder and kissed his temple. The dark haired wizard leaned in closer to the warm embrace and sighed. They stared there, totally happy to just stay within each other's embrace.

They had started as good friends, then it simply progressed from there. Sherlock knew he loved John more than anyone else he had ever met. Though he had never said it to the blond boy he felt it so strongly.

Suddenly John pulled away and Sherlock regretted the loss of warmth, "Come on Sherlock, we'll be getting to Hogwarts soon."

?

Sherlock stared longingly from the Ravenclaw table at his Gryffindor boyfriend, who was laughing with his friends. He sighed and turned back to his dinner. The great hall was alight with the floating candles and loud chatter of happy witches and wizards.

It was detestable.

Sherlock absolutely hated how happy everyone sounded. The only thing that really made him happy, was the fact that he had most of his classes with John. Being in different houses had made it difficult for them to keep in a relationship, but he believed John was totally worth it.

"Can I have everyone's attention," Headmaster Dumbledore called. Everyone in the hall immediately fell silent and turned their attention towards the bearded old man. "Well now we're all settled in and sorted, I'd like to make an announcement. This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well. You see Hogwarts has been chosen," suddenly the grand doors opened and Filch was running into the great hall. His steps were awkward and he clutched his chest like he had not run in fifty years, which Sherlock expected he didn't. He ran to the headmaster and gasped when he finally reached him. They exchanged some quiet words and Filch set of running again. "So," Dumbledore started again, "Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event: the Triwizard Tournament," He boomed. People from all houses started talking in excited and animated whispers.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, Mycroft had told him once how dangerous the Tournaments were. People had died or been hurt by participating in the tournaments. The dark haired wizard smirked, he felt sorry for the poor witch or wizard who entered into it. He glanced over at John, who had an excited and fierce gleam in his eyes that Sherlock knew all too well. His boyfriend wanted to enter in the Triwizard Tournaments. Sherlock frowned, there was no way he was letting his John enter.

No way.

"For those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school, a single student is selected to compete." The headmaster's voice grew serious, "Now let me be clear. If chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say, these contests are not for the faint of heart."

That sent a bolt of worry through Sherlock. What if he could not stop John from entering?

"But more of that later. For now, please join me in welcoming, the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their headmistress, Madame Maxime," He gestured grandly and the doors swung open.

Several beautiful girls all dress in blue silk and satin gracefully danced into the hall. They sighed and bowed dramatically, dancing away. Enchanted butterflies floated from them and disappeared in a puff of fluorescent blue sparkles.

Sherlock glanced at John again and was incredibly happy that John was gay, otherwise he might have enjoyed tripping the _lovely _girls on their way to their table.

Following the troop was an enormously tall woman adorning a garish red dress with grey fur peppered with black. She was smiling at everyone as she walked with odd grace for her size to her own seat up at the staff's table. Everyone clapped and cheered for the procession, and by everyone I mean all of the boys, save a very few, who were already taken (John, Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg, and a few others).

"And now our friends from the north," the headmaster called, "Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang, and their high master, Igor Karkaroff."

The doors banged open with a resounding crack and a group of strong, well-built young men stormed in. They carried staffs that they banged on the ground, that gave of sparks when it hit the floor. After every other step they called, a deep throated sound and flicked their staffs into their opposite hand. After they had all entered the room they changed to spinning and twirling the stick with fierce grace. They thrust the staff forward and shouted again. Suddenly a few placed their staffs on the ground and ran towards the staff table. The men flipped and performed cartwheels with stunning accuracy and agility. People sat up to get a better look as the men flipped and performed.

Two other men enter the hall last. One a younger man, the other much older. The younger man was hansom and rugged; he walked with stiff attention and a sure, confident step. The older was a tall thin man with ragged dark hair and what seemed like a permanent scowl on his face.

Sherlock heard someone from his table whisper, "Blimey, it's Viktor Krum!" Sherlock turned to John who was too busy staring at Krum, his eyes wide with wonder and amazement. Sherlock's cheeks reddened with jealousy. He remembered John telling him about Krum, his favorite Quidditch player and his frown deepened. He wouldn't be letting John out of his sight.

The younger and older man marched their way arrogantly up to the table, where the older man opened his arms, "Albus!" He said and hugged the headmaster.

Together the two foreign school heads sat down at the staff's table. Igor Karkaroff seemed to be having a glaring match with professor Snape, while Madame Maxime was having a discussion with a very disgruntled and nervous Hagrid.

Soon as dinner came to a close, wizards from the Ministry appeared with an ornately covered and very tall package that they set in front of the hall. As soon as they left, Dumbledore stood and walked to the package, "Your attention please," he called to the students, "I'd like to say a few words,"He layed his hand gently almost reverently on the package, "Eternal glory!" He said, "That is what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do this, that student must survive three tasks," his voice gained a fierce edge, "Three extremely dangerous tasks," Sherlock's heart plummeted when he saw John smile with anticipation and excitement. He did not want his boyfriend to be participating in any 'extremely dangerous tasks.' "For this reason, the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule," he continued, "To explain all this, we have the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mr. Bartemius Crouch," just as the small man was coming to the table, there was a flash of lightning and a boom of thunder and it suddenly started to downpour. People screamed and ducked, but Sherlock simply calmly watched the man in the far corner with the strange eye, whip out his wand. A bolt of pink lightning fired from the wand and hit the ceiling. The rain and thunder stopped and everyone recovered calmly. The man took out a large walking stick and began limping towards the staff's table.

Sherlock knew from his brother who that man was, It was Mad Eye Moran. A powerful, but eccentric Auror. Sherlock had never met him, but from his strange eye and scary frown, he was not sure he wanted to. He walked calmly examining all of the students in the room with a fierce scowl. The eye landed right on him and he felt a chill go down his spine. Sherlock ignored the feeling and scowled right back at the man. Moran turned and walked in front of the teacher's table, aware of the strange and almost afraid looks the older wizards were giving him. He seemed undaunted however.

Dumbledore extended his hand and clutched Moran's arm, "Ah, my dear old friend, thank you for coming."

"Stupid ceiling," he gurgled. His voice was rough and raw, scratchy in his throat that gave him an even more sinister and insane air. Moran stalked away into another corner and took out a plain silver flask of which he took a healthy swig of.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in curiosity, 'I wonder what's in that flask,' he thought.

Now that that entire ordeal was over with, Crouch walked over to the front center of the great hall. He was a small, thin man, worn with age and tired with worries, When he spoke, his voice shook naturally and it made him seem even smaller, almost afraid, "After due consideration, the Ministry has concluded that for their own safety, no student under the age of seventeen shall be allowed to put forth their name for the Triwizard Tournament."

There was an angry uproar as students from each house raised their voices in protest and claimed unfairness. Sherlock seemed to be the only one relieved by this knowledge. John wasn't seventeen, he couldn't enter and get himself killed. Sherlock turned to John who turned to him. Sherlock sent him an apologetic smile and John just shrugged in return. Sherlock knew John was disappointed but he also knew John would get over it quickly. He always was patient and forgiving.

'Part of the reason I love him,' Sherlock thought.

"Silence!" The booming voice of their headmaster interrupted the shouts and cries and everyone was immediately quiet. He waved his wand an the package began to melt away, revealing a large cup made of ancient stone. A moment of silence passed, then there was a collective gasp as the cup flickered to life. A blue flame erupted just above the mouth of the cup. It danced and glowed with magical beauty. Dumbledore seemed to gaze at it with amazement as well.

"The Goblet of Fire! Anyone wishing to submit themselves to the tournament need only write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame before this hour on Thursday night," His voice grew serious again, "Do not do so lightly. If chosen, there's no turning back. As from this moment the Triwizard Tournament has begun."

?

"I know Sherlock but wouldn't it be amazing anyway?" John asked with an excited glint in his eye.

"No, it would not. What if you died? Where would that leave me?" Sherlock pouted.

John smiled and kissed his boyfriend's forehead, "Hey, have a little confidence, if I entered, I wouldn't die! I'd win," he said confidently.

"John, your fourteen, how would you compete against seventeen year olds?" Sherlock asked with an exasperated sigh.

John smiled sheepishly, "Yeah your right, but I-"

"NO! ABSOLUTLY NOT!" A familiar voice rang as they passed one of the empty classrooms. They both stopped and looked in to see a seething, Mycroft Holmes and a calm Greg Lestrade.

Mycroft, a Slytherin, gripped his favorite emerald green umbrella, a gift from Greg, so tight his knuckles were white.

Greg, a Hufflepuff, simply stared calmly at him, though his poster was rigid, "Why not Mycroft?" He said simply. But the older boy's voice was dark and very dangerous. Greg was a powerful wizard and you did not want to get on his bad side. The only one who ever did and survived, was his boyfriend, who was currently yelling at him.

"WHY NOT! BECAUSE PEOPLE DIE GREGORY! GOOD PEOPLE! ALL BECAUSE THEY WANTED "ETERNAL GLORY!" John stood in utter shock to a just as shocked Sherlock. Neither of them had ever heard Mycroft raise his voice, much less scream any.

"Calm down Mycroft," Greg sighed heavily and his posture relaxed, "If it bothers you that much I won't enter alright," he sighed and left the room, pushing past the onlookers.

"Gregory wait," Mycroft called, his voice heavy with regret.

"I'll go after him," John offered and ran down the hall after his retreating friend.

The two Holmes stood awkwardly in the room, neither looking at the other. Finally Mycroft nodded to his brother, "Sherlock."

"Mycroft."

"How are you and John?"

"Fine…. Why did….?" The unspoken question was obvious.

Mycroft sighed, "Gregory wanted to enter into the Triwizard Tournament, but I refuse to allow that," he said, his voice becoming stern, "Those Tournaments are far too dangerous and I would not want to loose…." His voice trailed away when he realize who he was talking to, but to his surprise his younger brother nodded, "I know."

They stood again in a more comfortable silence until, "How are things at the Ministry?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes, "Moriarty is still after the two of us and he's somehow managed to convince that idiot Fudge that he's not really a threat!" Mycroft clutched his umbrella tighter, "Watch yourself brother, and watch John too," with those parting words he left his brother in the silence of the empty classroom.

Sherlock sighed and followed after his Boyfriend.

?

"Greg! Hey Greg wait up," John called after the retreating Hufflepuff.

Greg stopped and waited for his friend to catch up, "Hey John," he said, his voice quiet with sadness.

"You ok Greg," The blond said as he joined his friend.

They both continued walking, "I'm fine, I just wish…. Well that Mycroft wouldn't be so…. Protective. He's always been protective, but he seemed to get really protective after the whole, Chamber of Secrets incident," he mumbled.

John nodded, that had been a scary time for everyone, especially Mycroft and Greg, "Yeah but you know its cause he loves you," he said with a sly smile.

Greg shoved him, "Hey how bout you lover boy? Sherlock say it yet?"

John blushed, "No, not yet," he seemed crestfallen.

Greg smiled knowingly, it had taken Mycroft nearly four years to say 'I love you,' he placed a hand on John's shoulder, "Hey man, don't sweat it, he'll come around eventually."

John sighed, "Yeah, I hope so."

Greg decided to change the subject, "Hey what do you have first tomorrow?"

"I've got Defense Against the Dark Arts with Sherlock first," He answered, thankful for the distraction.

"Oh yeah, I heard the new teachers a total nutter. His name is Mad eye Moran, he's an Auror, but he's totally insane," Greg answered sympathetically.

"Oh great," John groaned while Greg laughed.

?

"How is Lestrade?" Sherlock asked when he joined John in the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindors had become used to the Ravenclaw coming into their common room. He somehow seemed to know the password every time, but everyone had grown tired of asking him how.

"He's alright, he's just a little frustrated about how protective Mycroft is," John answered into Sherlock's neck. They were curled up comfortably in front of the fire, snuggled together on the couch.

"I can understand how he feels," Sherlock said quietly into John's sandy hair.

John looked up at him in surprise and Sherlock kissed his forehead. The dark haired wizard always surprised John with those small intimate gestures that were so rare but so special.

"Sherlock… I-I L-"

"Goodnight John," Sherlock said quickly and jumped up. He disappeared out of the room and was gone.

John sighed unhappily and went to bed, thinking of how amazing it would be if he won the Triwizard Tournament, maybe then Sherlock would say he loves him.

**Well I hope you like it, Read and Review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**I apologize for the delay. Enjoy! Oh and I don't own HP or Sherlock**

"Sebastian Moran," the strange wizard said, "Ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent," He scribbled his name onto the bored, "And your new defense against the dark arts teacher. I am here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story, goodbye, the end. Any questions?" He scrutinized the class and John sank further into his seat.

Sherlock and John were situated near the front of the class, next to each other, but John suddenly wished they had sat in the back. Mad eye Moran was a frightening man with a twisted face and a horrible scar. His magical eye swiveled and stared at every one.

John's focus returned to the teacher when he began to speak again, "When it comes to the Dark Arts, I believe in a practical approach," he growled and Sherlock and John exchanged curious looks, "But first which of you can tell me how many Unforgivable Curses there are?"

Sally Donovan, a fellow Ravenclaw called out, "Three sir," she said smugly.

Moran nodded, "And they are so named?" He turned and began scribbling on the board again.

Sally continued, "Because they are unforgivable. The use of any one of them will-"

Moran cut her off, "Will earn you a one way ticket to Azkaban, correct. Now, The Ministry says you're too young to see what these curses do. I say different!" Sherlock tensed as Moran slammed the chalk onto the table, "You need to know what you're up against! You need to be prepared!" He all but yelled, and he returned to his chalk board. "So which curse shall we see first?" He asked excitedly.

John saw Sherlock go pale and his fists shook, "Hey you ok," he whispered.

Sherlock relaxed, but only minutely, "Yes I'm fine."

They redirected their attention, "The Imperius Curse!" He walked over to his desk to a small glass jar containing a strange spider-like creature that he coaxed into his hand, he drew out his wand and pointed it at the creature, "_Engorgio," _he said and the spider creature grew to the size of his hand, "_Imperio," _he growled and he waved his wand. It jumped from his hand and onto one of the student's desk, who promptly scrambled away. With another flick of his wand it jumped onto the student's face, who froze in fear, "Don't worry. It's completely harmless," he continued to make the thing hop about the room, "If she bites, she's lethal," he said with a twisted laugh. "What should I have her do next? Jump out the window? Drown herself?" He drew the creature back into his palm, "Scores, of witches and wizards, have claimed that they only did Dark Arts because they were under the influence of the Imperius Curse. But here's the rub: How do we sort out the liars?" He leaned back and watched the class silently. Everyone continued to stare at him as though he were mad, which he was.

"Another curse?" He said after a moments quiet. Slowly Molly Hooper, the girl next to John raised her hand, "Hooper is it?" He asked and she nodded, "Professor Sprout tells me you have an aptitude for herbology," He said to her.

She nodded again, "There's… the Cruciatus Curse," she stuttered.

"Correct, Correct. Come, come," he beckoned her over to his desk, "The torture curse," He growled almost in a whisper. Molly walked hesitantly over to his desk where he set the spider thing down. "_Curcio!" _He called and the thing began to writhe and cringe as though it were in agony. Molly flinched and backed away, looking as though she was going to cry or be sick, possibly both.

"Stop, Can't you see it's bothering her," John cried rising from his seat. Moran glanced at John then back at Molly and withdrew his wand. Immediately the writhing stopped and the creature relaxed in obvious relief. John sat back down stiffly and Sherlock watched him in slight concern.

Molly sighed in relief and sat back down with a thankful look to John.

Moran coughed and picked up the creature and carried it over to John's desk, where he dropped it onto his books. Both Sherlock and John tensed. "Perhaps you could give us the last Unforgivable curse Mister Watson," Moran said. John however stared straight ahead refusing to answer. "No?"

"_Avada Kadavra!"_ He hissed and thrust his wand at the creature. A small green light shot from his wand and with a small cry it curled up and died. John and Sherlock stared down at the creature then back up at their teacher, who stared back at them. Without removing his eyes he said, "The Killing Curse. There is no way to survive it," he said and his tongue flickered out past his lips. He reached into his coat and withdrew a silver flask and took a hearty gulp. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Moran spoke this time to Molly, "Miss Hooper, please stay after class, I'd like to show you something," he said and continued teaching the class about the Unforgivable Curses.

As soon as the class was over John and Sherlock bolted from the room, both happy to get away from their demented teacher.

"What was he thinking?! Showing those curses in a class room for God's sake," John seethed.

Sherlock nodded, though only vaguely paying attention. His thoughts were on that strange twitch he saw earlier. Then it suddenly went away after Moran drank some of what was in the flask. Sherlock frowned, what was in the flask?

"Sherlock, Are you even listening?" John growled at his boyfriend.

"What?" Sherlock said only half paying attention.

John sighed in frustration, "Whatever, I'm just glad to get away from that crazy nutter," he said and Sherlock couldn't agree more.

?

Sherlock and John were sitting in the Great Hall, watching the students place their names into the burning magical goblet.

"If only I was a seventh year," he sighed.

"I wouldn't let you do it even if you were," Sherlock stated.

John glanced at his boyfriend and sighed again, "I know, but it's still enough to wish for though right? "Eternal Glory."

"Enough to risk your life for," Sherlock asked.

"I wouldn't die, I still have you after all," He said and kissed his nose.

They both went quiet when a stern almost cold presence entered the room. Viktor Krum walked past the two and placed his name into the cup. As he was walking away he glanced at John and smiled.

John turned pink but smiled back, shyly. His attention was drawn when he felt his arm being pulled, "What was that?" Sherlock demanded of his boyfriend.

"What's the matter Sherlock, jealous?" John smirked.

Sherlock scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous John, why would I be jealous?" John stared at him for a moment then sighed. Sherlock pretended not to care, but his insides burned when he saw John's eyes follow Krum until he was out of the room and out of sight.

?

Everyone was gathered in the great hall, milling about waiting to be seated.

"I wonder who it's going to be," John said excitedly

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Whoever it is going to die. Mycroft told me the challenges were especially difficult this year."

John looked mildly concerned, "What if it's someone we know," he said.

Sherlock scoffed, "Oh please, everyone who is important to us is too smart to enter in something so dangerous. I just hope that Anderson gets picked."

"That seventh year Hufflepuff? Why him?"

"Because John I hate him, he is a total idiot!" Sherlock growled.

"Everyone! Please be seated," Dumbledore called. Everyone stopped chatting and sat in silence, "Now the moment you've all been waiting for, The Champion selection," he called and everyone clapped enthusiastically. He waved his hand and the fires dimmed until the only light in the dark room came from the burning blue fire flickering in the Goblet in the front of the room. He walked towards it, hand outstretched and waiting. Suddenly the fire flickered and a burnt piece of paper flew from the fire and into Dumbledore's hand. "The Durmstrang champion is Viktor Krum!" The men from Durmstarng called and cheered as the stoic young man walked up to Dumbledore and shook his hand, then to the back room, waiting for the other champions.

The fire glowed again this time a bright pink and it spat out another piece of burnt paper, "The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour," he called and everyone cheered as the young woman danced gracefully to the back room.

Once again the fire flickered and the Headmaster caught the final piece of paper, "The Champion for Hogwarts is…" Everyone drew bated breath, "Gregory Lestrade!" He called and everyone cheered. The Hufflepuff look totally shocked and if it weren't for the hands that pushed him to the front he would have been totally frozen. He swallowed hard and did not meet Mycroft's eye at the table next to his. He walked up to the room stiffly and with short steps. Sherlock glanced at John, who wore a concerned look, then to his brother who looked furious.

Mycroft clutched his umbrella as though he was ready to wield it as a weapon. He stared after Greg with an angry fire in his eyes.

Greg was going to have hell to pay for this one.

"Excellent! We now have our three champions," Dumbledore called, but suddenly the flame flickered again and it spat out another burnt paper. With a fierce frown Dumbledore caught the paper and in a trembling voice he said, "John Watson."


End file.
